


Compound Interest

by Saathi1013



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual Kink, F/M, First Time, Jealousy, Mild Kink, Oral Sex, POV Male Character, POV Third Person Limited, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU whereby Belle secretly escaped from Regina's dungeons right before the curse hit, and became 'Lacey French' - just another resident of Storybrooke.</p><p>And as it turns out, Lacey French needs a job.</p><p>(Eventually, she gets more than that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compound Interest

**Author's Note:**

> After "Lacey" aired, I [wrote a ranty post](http://saathi1013.tumblr.com/post/48907465440/i-need-to-yell-about-my-rumbelle-feels) about how the narrative did not quite set up our introduction to the titular character in a satisfactory way - and then saw a lot of hate for Lacey herself, which was even more frustrating. So I decided to write Lacey/Gold in such a way that it satisfied me on all fronts.
> 
> No beta, but polished up a bit from the Tumblr version.

Two days after Emma Swan shows up in Storybrooke, Mr. Gold is distracted from taking inventory by the flicker-flash of a figure outside his windows. The first time, he only catches a glimpse of the person - pale skin and dark hair - before they’re gone again, out of sight.

Half a minute later, she’s back and Gold looks up in time to recognize her.  She's dressed in a breezy blue sundress with her hair in a high ponytail, and his breath catches.

 _Belle,_ he thinks. Everything else drops away and he sets his pen aside, halfway around the counter before she’s gone again. He wants to go to the door, call her name, but then he realizes that he doesn’t _know_ her name, not the one she has here in Storybrooke.

They’re strangers to each other.

But she’s _alive_. That’s more than enough to let hope bloom in the far corners of his heart.

She comes back a few seconds later, pacing towards his door, familiar determination in the set of her jaw. The bell rings as she opens the door, and he schools his face into pleasant welcome. "Good afternoon," he says. "How may I help you, Miss—?"

"Lacey French," she supplies. "...I need a job."

"Ah. Unfortunately, I’m not hiring right now," he replies, mind already racing, thinking about favors he’s owed by people who could be persuaded to hire her. He’s about to add, _‘But-_ ’ when she interrupts.

"I’ve seen you limping around town," she says. "I mean, c’mon, surely someone like _you_ could use the help…"

The words shrivel on his tongue. Part of him would like nothing more than to give her a job, but this callous girl is nothing like Belle, with her low-cut dress and a rose tattoo with thorns circling her wrist, and the offhand insult too-casually tumbling from her lips.

"I _don’t_ ," he says, cool and firm. "But it was lovely to meet you, Miss French."

He turns his back and makes his way around the counter to continue his inventory. He doesn’t look back until he hears the bell ring again, signaling her departure.

 _Alive_ , he thinks, watching her go through the window. _Small mercies,_ and: _Emma will break the curse soon enough._

***

The next morning is like any other for Gold: nodding to his neighbors on the street, stopping by Granny’s for a cup of coffee to go, walking to his shop to open for the day…

Only to find Belle - Lacey French - sitting on his stoop, waiting for him.

"Good morning," he says, setting his coffee on the sill and retrieving his keys. "What brings you here so early in the morning?"

She stands and brushes her hands off on her cut-off jeans, which are so short that he can see the bottom of the pockets hanging behind the ragged edges. He looks away from her legs.

"I came to apologize," she says. "I was rude yesterday, and I’m sorry."

Gold nods and opens the door. Lacey follows him in.

"You’re forgiven," he says and notices that she’s brought his forgotten coffee with her. "Thank you."

Lacey sets the cup on the counter between them and leans forward on her elbows. "I still need a job," she says.

"I’m still not hiring," he replies. "Doesn’t your father own a flower shop? Why don’t you work for him?"

She gives him a _look_. "My father and I don’t get along," she says with a wealth of feeling.

"My condolences."

" _Please_ , Mr. Gold," she says. He considers it for a moment, but the idea of having her underfoot, an unknown quantity in a familiar package _distracting him_ while the complex equation of the curse unravels outside his door, shedding unstable variables as it goes…

"No," he says, but he gives her a gentle smile. "Why don’t you try Granny’s?"

She sighs and pushes herself up off the counter. This time, he allows himself to watch her leave. Those shorts are _very_ short, and he is only human (here), after all.

*****

Lacey returns at noon, one of Granny’s to-go bags in her hand. "Lunch," she says. "Your usual."

"Granny’s delivering now?" he asks.

"No," she says. "I thought I’d save you the trip."

He smiles. "Maybe I like getting a bit of fresh air," he says. "Having the excuse to say hello to my friends…"

Lacey lifts her eyebrows to her hairline, but doesn’t say a word, her dubious expression speaking volumes enough.

"…all right," he admits, opening the bag and pulling out the wax paper-wrapped sandwich and stryofoam cup of soup. "So did Granny hire you, then?"

"No," she says. "She said having one ‘lazy trollop’ on staff was enough. And then she and Ruby started arguing again." She rolls her eyes expansively, and Gold suppresses a smile.

"‘Lazy trollop’?" he repeats. "Is _that_ what you are?"

There it is again, a hint of the Belle he knows, jaw set and high, shoulders square, eyes flashing. "What I do with my body is my own business," she says. "But I’m not _lazy_."

"Where have you worked before?" he asks.

"Father’s store," she says.

"Doing what?"

"Regular stuff," she says, shrugging. "Worked the register, set up displays. Helped with the books, some."

"Really?" Gold says. He’d been wondering why Moe started regularly paying his rent on time - and in full - all of a sudden last year. "And he fired you?"

Lacey looks away. _"Well_ ," she hedges. He unwraps his sandwich and sets the pickle aside; it’s chicken salad on rye, his usual, just as she’d said. "It was more of a mutual decision. We started fighting about something else, and before I knew it, we were screaming that old cliche that goes _You’re fired!_ and _You can’t fire me, I quit!_   And then I threw a vase at the wall and stormed out."

He can’t help but picture the scene and laugh.

"I do feel bad about it," she admits. "It was unprofessional. But that’s why I’m looking for a new job. I shouldn’t work for my father - too complicated."

 _You have no idea,_ Gold thinks. "Fair enough," he says, and picks up his spoon to start on his soup. Tomato with a hint of pepper, excellent. "So long as you don’t do the same here," he says, "you’re hired. Break anything and you’ll pay for it."

She gives him a brilliant smile and he knows he’ll regret this. "Really? _Thank you,_ Mr. Gold!" she says.

And then she steals his pickle.

***

It becomes easier, after a time, to stop thinking of Lacey as Belle, despite the resemblance, the reality lurking behind the curse that defines this world and (nearly) all the inhabitants in it. Still, it’s occasionally unsettling to walk into a room and find her smiling at him, to keep the facade when echoes of her old self surface at random moments.

One morning he returns to the shop from an errand to find the blinds open, and promptly closes them. Lacey looks up from pricing new stock but doesn’t say anything. "I have some accounts to update," he says, and goes into the back office.

When he returns, the blinds are open again. "You know," he says casually, striding to the windows, "some antiques can be damaged by sunlight."

"Anything that precious and you’d have it locked away," she comments.

"Ah, but then how would customers see it?" he says lightly.

"Which is why a well-lit shop is crucial to business," she replies. "Unless you secretly don’t want to part with anything in here…"

"Everything has its price, dear," he says, turning back to drop the blinds in place again.

"Not everything," she says. "Not _people_."

"You’d be surprised," he says, and she just rolls her eyes. As he goes over to take care of the second window, he feels a slight pressure on his shoulder and hears a sharp click.

He wheels to find Lacey holding up the pricing gun, an impish smile on her face. "There you are," she says.

He reaches up, twisting until he’s caught the little orange sticker between thumb and forefinger. "It’s blank," he says.

"See?" she says, tilting her head. "A good person is _priceless_." She waggles the pricing gun at him. "The sticker never lies."

"Is that what you think I am?" he asks, rubbing his fingers together, rolling the paper into a little ball. "A _good_ person?"

"Better than your reputation," she says, which isn’t saying much. He’s actually rather pleased with how well his standing’s translated here. "You gave me a job, didn’t you?"

"And I can fire you just as easily," he says, but she just laughs at him.

He doesn’t begrudge her that; it’s a joy to hear her laugh when he never thought he’d see her face again. And she’s good at her job, too, polite with customers, efficient at all the little tasks it takes to keep a store running, and she can even calculate sales tax in her head when the ancient register acts up every other day or so.

"My boyfriend’s good at fixing things," she comments idly one morning, shoving the drawer back in place. "Want him to take a look at this beast?"

 _Of course_ , he thinks. _Of_ _ **course**_ _there’s a boyfriend._ Even though she’s not Belle, not really (not yet), it still makes his lungs ache and catch.

"No, thank you," he says, and hides in his office for the rest of the afternoon.

***

The boyfriend makes an appearance one afternoon, rolling up in his battered Jeep, and Gold’s lip curls as he recognizes Nottingham’s former sheriff. "Oh," Lacey says, beaming brightly. "Keith’s here - d’you mind if I leave early today?"

"I’ll dock your pay," Gold says, meaning ‘ _yes.’_ He _will_ mind. But she just calls her thanks and grabs her jacket as she leaves.

Regina passes Lacey on the sidewalk and doubles back to enter the shop. "I’d heard you’d acquired new help," she says by way of greeting. "Wherever did you _find_ her?" Fishing, always fishing, the miller’s granddaughter with everything she ever wanted - more than her mother had ever dreamed - and yet always on her guard here in this static little town that he’s helped her create. He’ll never let on just how _spectacularly_ it will fall down around her ears, how close she is to ruin. It will be a delight to watch, all the more so with Belle nearby.

"Turned up on my doorstep," he replies lightly. "Hadn’t the heart to turn her away."

Regina looks unimpressed by his generosity. "Is she any good?" she asks, running her fingers along the edge of the counter. "I’ve been meaning to hire a secretary for some time…"

"Oh, please," he says through his smile, watching her shoulders stiffen, "don’t begrudge me an extra hand. You know how busy I am."

"Very well," she says, narrowing her eyes. "I’ll leave you to it, then."

She leaves, and Gold is left alone to think.

 _What does it matter, where Lacey works?_   When the curse is broken he’ll find Belle - or she him - regardless. And until then, he’s stuck with a stranger who curses a blue streak when she stubs her toe on a trunk, dresses immodestly, and tunes his radio away from the classical station while she cleans.

It’s folly to torture himself in the interim, and yet here he is, unwilling to repeat history by dismissing Lacey as he’d done Belle. He’s been patient for this long without such hope in front of his eyes, and he can be patient for a little longer.

Or so he tells himself.

***

Then one day, he wakes up bleeding on the floor of his shop, Belle's – Lacey's – gentle hands cradling his face. "Mr. Gold?" she's saying, "Mr. Gold, are you all right? Do you remember what happened?"

 _Cinderella_ , he thinks groggily. _Ashley Boyd. I'll skin her alive for this._ But he remembers Lacey calling him 'good' – remembers Belle's unwavering faith in him, and says aloud, "I must have tripped on the rug."

"Are- are you sure?" Lacey asks. "The safe was open when I came in. I don't know if anything's missing, but..."

"I'm sure," he says. "I was looking over some contracts last night." He sits up, or tries to, and Lacey's hands push him back down.

"Don't move," Lacey says. "I've called 911."

When he finally extricates himself from the paramedics and the Sheriff's questions with as many lies as he can spin, he gets Emma to track Ms. Boyd down. And perhaps – _perhaps_ – it's the memory of waking with Lacey's hands on his face that makes him uncharacteristically generous. He lets Ashley keep the child.

He gains a favor from Emma regardless, so it's not a total waste.

***

One night, Gold dreams that Lacey kisses him, and the gilded scales climb under his skin again, bubbling and festering.

He wakes with a strangled shout, his leg aching.

He's grumpy the whole morning, and Lacey stays uncharacteristically quiet through all the little tasks he assigns her, which only makes it _worse._ Finally, she sighs and puts down the glass cleaner. "These counters aren't going to get any shinier. Don't you have any 'errands' to run?"

"'Run'?" he echoes with a snarl, feeling mocked.

She puts her hands on her hips. "Oh no, I'm not playing that game with you. You want someone to take your shitty mood out on, go find someone with a delinquent account."

" _Fine,_ " he says, and calls his boys. Karl and George – formerly Sirs Kay and Gawain, and it gives him some small, dark humor to have two of Arthur's paragons on his staff – show up promptly. George gives a leering smile to Lacey, who raises a dismissive eyebrow and turns away.

"She's _spoken for,_ " Gold snaps at George as they leave.

"You got a claim, boss?" Karl says, grinning.

"No," Gold replies, stopping to fix them with a glare. "But someone else does - Keith, isn't it?"

His men exchange glances. "Not anymore," George says. "Broke up last week, didn't you hear?"

"They had a huge fight at the Rabbit Hole," Karl adds. " _Real_ ugly. He shoved her, an' she broke his nose for it. Then he threw all her stuff out the window in the middle of the night."

Gold tightens his grip on his cane. _She never said anything,_ he thinks, and _Why would she?_   "Well, thank you for that bit of _gossip,_ gentlemen, but we've better things to do with our time, haven't we? And if either of you waste Lacey's time – and, by extension, _mine_ – by sniffing around her at my store, you'll find yourselves _regretting_ it. Is that clear?"

They glance at each other again, wary. "Yes sir," they echo, and that's the end of it. They continue on down the street – Worthington is behind on his rent, and Gold could use a new suit.

***

Every now and then, Gold catches people wandering by on the sidewalk, looking confused or lost in thoughts.

"Man," he overhears Ruby saying to Dr. Hopper one day at the diner. "I have been getting _wicked_ cases of deja-vu all morning. What's _up_ with that?"

Hopper frowns at his eggs. "You know, you're not the only one," he says. "A-and actually, it's one of those phenomenons that the scientific community has been debating for some time..."

Gold smiles into his coffee. The cracks, it seems, are getting bigger.

***

Lacey comes into the back room while he's restoring a music box – pink elephants on a carousel, quite an unusual piece. It will fetch a tidy profit, once he gets the mechanism to work.

"I heard Keith got evicted last night," she says.

"Mm," he says, not looking up. "He was occupying an illegal sublet, apparently."

"He's been there for years," she points out.

"Then it was about time, wouldn't you say?" he says, and the tiny glass plate begins to spin smoothly, circus music tinkling faint but clear. "Ah, there we go," he says, satisfied.

"I broke his nose," she says, and waits. When he doesn't answer, she continues, "I don't remember breaking his _jaw._ "

"Well, accidents do happen," Gold says. He fits the access panel back in place, closing it up, and the music stops. "There we go, just needs a bit of polish. Will you do the honors, my dear?"

Lacey takes the music box and sets it on a side shelf, ignoring his instructions and perching on the corner of his work table instead. "I know why you did it," she says.

"I'm sure you don't," he says honestly. He swivels his chair away and she catches it with her foot, spinning him back towards her.

 _"Gold,_ " she says, scolding and knowing all at once. He tries not to look at her leg, bare skin inches from his hand, the hem of her skirt hitched at a dangerous angle. "It's all right," she says, leaning in. "I don't mind." Her mouth ghosts across his, teasing, and then when he doesn't object, it returns, clever and sure and wicked, hint of teeth and tongue across his lower lip.

His hand lands on her knee, soft skin sliding beneath his palm, and he jerks away with a gasp. She's still smiling, her expression uncharacteristically gentle and soft. "Belle?" he whispers, and she blinks at him.

"What?" she asks. Something collapses behind his sternum.

"It means 'beautiful' in French," he says. Lacey laughs and leans in again. He catches her by the shoulder. "You don't love me," he murmurs.

"Is that a prerequisite?" she asks. Her fingers curl around his tie, drift over his jaw.

"I suppose not," he replies, giving in.

Her next kiss consumes him like a bonfire, burning away all comparisons to her former self. Not like there's any _real_ equivalence, certainly – what did he have with Belle, besides fleeting touches and one sweet, hopeful kiss whose memory is tangled with his rejection borne of shameful doubt? Nothing like Lacey's deliberate sensuality as she crawls into his lap, the chair creaking ominously as she straddles his legs.

She winds her fingers through his hair and tugs, breaking away to gasp for air. "Oh," she says as he kisses her throat, stubble catching on her skin. He presses one hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer. "I've thought about this," she confesses breathlessly. "What it would take for the _formidable Mr. Gold_ to lose control."

"Really?" he asks, tipping his head back to see her face flushed , eyes bright. She rolls her hips and he hisses through his teeth.

" _Really,_ " she replies, grinning.

"I _do_ hope it's everything you imagined," he says lightly, letting his hand fall from her shoulder, slipping down over the curve of her breast. She bites her lip.

" _Almost,_ " she says, and her own fingertips trace down the line of his tie, bump over the buttons of his vest, and then lower.

"Ah," he says. His hand flexes on her hip as she touches him through layers of fabric he wishes he could wish away as he used to. But her nimble fingers are already working on his belt, his buttons, his fly, and he has to close his eyes against her greedy gaze.

Which is why he has no warning when she backs away to kneel on the floor between his legs.

" _Lacey,_ " he gasps, and that's the last coherent word that he can manage for some time.

***

When she's done, Lacey stands up and kisses him, tasting of salt and of bitterness. Gold pushes her back with his hands on her hips and spreads her out over the worktable. Tools scatter and she giggles, delighted, until he rolls the chair forward to press kisses up her inner thigh. And then she's panting his name – his _false_ name, in this false place, but he's too busy repaying her favor to care about the distinction.

Lacey winds her fingers in his hair until she falls apart, again and again, reduced to shudders and cries that he wants to bottle like a potion, hoard like gold and like books and like contracts. He loses himself in the taste of her, the wet warm clench of her around his fingers, the weight of her knee hooked over his shoulder. He's almost disappointed when she pushes him away with trembling hands.

"I can't," she says, voice thready, "holy _fuck._ "

"Language, dearie," he chides, teasingly. She wrinkles her nose at him and thumps her open fist against his shoulder.

The bell rings and they stare at each other.

"Just a moment," Gold calls, and Lacey covers her mouth to smother a giggle. It's a matter of seconds to right his clothing, smooth down his hair, and he pulls himself to his feet before she stops him.

She takes his handkerchief and wipes his face, making the silk square disappear behind the neckline of her dress when she's done. "You can come back for it later," she says with a wink, and sends him on his way while she looks for her underthings beneath the table.

(He has them in his pocket; fair trade for his handkerchief.)

"Good afternoon," he says to Billy, who's idly looking over a small pile of stuffed animals.

"You've got a car in your lot," the tow-truck driver says, tweaking the horns of a stuffed goat. "Been there a couple of days. You want I should move it?"

Normally Gold would say yes in an instant, but he's feeling generous today. He's about to say 'no' when Lacey pops her head around the corner, having regained her composure. "Shitty blue sedan?" she asks. Billy nods. "That's mine, sorry. I didn't know where else to put it."

"Well then," Gold says to Billy. "Employees are exempt. But thank you for your vigilance."

Billy nods. "Anytime, boss," he says, and heads out.

"Days?" Gold asks Lacey. She winces.

"Yeah," she confesses. "I... didn't have anyplace to go."

"Don't tell me you were _sleeping_ there?" he says, aghast.

She bites her lip. "Maybe? I didn't want to live with my dad again. It's only for a little while, 'till I find a place I can afford on my own."

"And who, precisely, do you think _owns_ most of those places?" Gold says with some exasperation. "You should have told me, my dear."

"I didn't –" she begins, then takes a deep breath. "You already gave me a _job,_ " she points out. "Which, um, I think I have to quit now..."

"Don't be foolish," he says, waving one hand dismissively. He realizes his mistake when her eyes flash in outrage. "– I mean, do you really think that's necessary?"

"I won't be treated like some kind of – _hired mistress,_ " she says. "It would be too complicated working for you and living in one of your apartments, let alone... whatever else might be happening between us."

"And what, exactly, would that be?" he asks quietly.

Lacey shrugs. "Some really excellent sex?" she offers, "At least, so far. I wouldn't mind trying it again – maybe in a proper bed, though that's negotiable. Other than that, I don't know for sure. But I know that if I want to find out, you can't have a monopoly on the _rest_ of my life."

Which is, of course, ridiculous. Hasn't she been paying attention? That is _precisely_ the kind of thing that he does on a regular basis. _Although,_ he admits to himself, _rarely do I let myself get so_ _ **personally**_ _entangled in anyone's life._ She is, once again, an exception in that regard.

"How about a deal?" he says, leaning forward on his cane. "I have an empty room upstairs which is yours until you find a place more suited to your... preferences. I will charge you the average market value plus ten percent –"

"– five –" she interjects.

Gold nods agreement and continues, "– with a monthly lease, so you have leeway to leave."

"...all right," she says. "But I want a promise that if we have any... _personal_ difficulties, that I won't be summarily evicted until I find another place to stay."

"...provided that it takes no longer than thirty days from the end of the month in which we... disagreed," he adds.

"Fair enough." Lacey nods. "Similar terms for my job – I'll stay until I find something else, and if we have any personal issues, I still expect an honest recommendation regarding my professional skills when I interview with any prospective employers."

"I can write one right now, and seal it with your contract," he offers.

"Good," she says. "And one other thing."

"Yes?" he says, smiling with the pleasure of a deal well-bargained. If all goes well, this will provide enough security that she'll _choose_ not to leave.

"You're buying dinner tonight," she says with a smile. "But we don't need to sign on that one, do we?"

Gold chuckles. "No, I don't suppose we do. How do you feel about tandoori?"

"Love it," she says. "Now, get writing. The sooner you finish that contract, the sooner we can eat."

He shakes her head at her impertinence, and goes back to his office.

***

Their waitress sends them dark looks when she thinks they're not looking. Her nametag says 'Rebecca' but Gold knows her better as 'Rapunzel' and he wants to smother her in her own hair every time he catches one of her poorly-hidden scowls.

"Does it bother you?" he asks, over their meals, richly spiced lamb and chicken and rice. "What people will think of us?"

Lacey snorts. "If I had a dollar for every time someone disapproved of one of my boyfriends, I'd be able to afford a _house._ "

Gold doesn't ask how many boyfriends she's had. _Half of them are probably false memories,_ he reminds himself. "I do have a reputation," he points out, and she laughs.

"So do I." She tips her head to the side. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"I want to make sure _you're_ not," he assures her. "I _am_ much older than you." Older than she thinks, even.

"Well," she says, taking a sip of her tea. "Then I'll just have to reap the benefits of all that experience, won't I?" Her smile is wicked, and brings a flush to his face.

"Ah," he says, and fiddles with his silverware a bit, pushing a bit of tomato in a circuit around his plate. "I should tell you, it's been a while..."

"Could have fooled me," she says, teasing, then her voice drops down as she covers his hand with here. "Really, Gold, I don't know what you're expecting here, but Idon't expect flowers and chocolate and extravagant wooing. I like spending time with you, and liked... what we did earlier, and if we can just keep –" she waves her hands expansively "– _enjoying_ ourselves without second-guessing ourselves all the time, that would be _great._ It doesn't _have_ to be complicated, you know."

 _It already is,_ he thinks. Aloud, he says, "I'll follow your lead, then, shall I?"

Lacey rewards him with another smile. "Good man. Now get the check, I want dessert."

***

Later – much later – in bed, Lacey toys with his hair. "Oh," she says. "It just occurred to me. I don't know your first name. Isn't that weird? I cash your checks and sort your mail, but I can't remember what it is."

He smiles, sleepy and sated. "That is odd," he replies. She pokes him in the ribs.

"No, _really,_ " she says. "I should call you something other than 'Gold' when you're sleeping with me, shouldn't I?"

"Names have power," he murmurs. "If I tell you, who knows what you'll do with me?"

"Oh I see," she says. "You're _afraid_ of me. Big bad Mr. Gold, afraid of a girl."

"Hardly a _girl,_ " he says, one hand tracing the line of her body. He takes a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. "Call me Rumplestiltskin, if you like," he offers, keeping his voice casual despite his heart leaping in his chest.

She hits him with a pillow. She thinks he's _joking._

"Too much of a mouthful," she says, "I'll stick to Gold."

***

In addition to her employment contract and her lease, there's a third ongoing, unwritten negotiation between them. It goes thus:

     § 1: Gold is not permitted to harm or threaten anyone on Lacey's behalf.  
          (a) ... without her _express_ permission.

This was agreed-to early on, when they'd gone for lunch at Granny's and Leroy had asked what kind of _help_ Gold was paying Lacey for, loaded insult clear though his words had slurred a bit.

"Started early, I see," Gold had said, and 'accidentally' tripped the drunken former dwarf with his cane.

Lacey had given Gold a _look._

     § 2: They are not permitted to kiss in the shop.  
         (a) … in the front room.  
         (b) … during business hours.  
         (c) … while customers are present.  
     § 3: They are not permitted to do anything _else_ in the shop.  
         (a) … unless it's in one of the back rooms.  
         (b) … and they've flipped the sign.  
         (c) … and locked the door.

Those sections had required some trial and error. They also had to rehash a previous agreement, that Gold had thought was settled _weeks_ ago:

     § 4: Gold does not require Lacey to treat him like he's _helpless_ because of his leg.  
     § 5: Gold _is_ required to let her know when he _does_ need help.

The following had required more _heated_ negotiations:

      ~~§ 6: Lacey is not allowed to flirt with other men.~~  
     § 6: Lacey may flirt with whomever she likes.  
         (a) … only if she is scamming them out of money at the pool tables.  
         (b) … and 'flirting' is all she does.  
         (c) … and she never goes home with anyone but Gold at the end of the night.  
     § 7: Gold is not permitted to follow her into the restroom at the bar to stake his 'claim' on her in the handicapped stall out of some kind of jealous pique.  
         (a) … again.  
         (b) … even if the handrails on the wall _had_ proven surprisingly useful.  
         (c) … because the Rabbit Hole has a 'three strikes' policy regarding 'indecency.'  
         (d) … even if he owns the property.  
     § 8: Gold is not allowed to flirt with Emma Swan.  
          ~~(a) … he doesn't _'flirt'_ with Emma Swan.~~  
          ~~(b) … does too.~~  
          ~~(c) … _doesn't._~~  
         (a) … whatever he's doing, he should _stop._  
      ~~§ 9: Lacey should be polite to Deputy Swan.~~  
     § 9: Lacey should at least _attempt_ to be _civil_ around Sheriff Swan.

And then, on Valentine's Day – of all days! – Keith attempts to woo Lacey back. There is some dissension about whether Gold subsequently breaks Section 1, and negotiations break down, until:

     § 10: Gold is permitted to continue pursuing and defending his own property and business interests as he sees fit, when they do not include Lacey specifically.  
         (a) … unless he's repossessing her father's van on the busiest day of the year.  
         (b) … her father gets a 24-hour extension.  
         (c) … however, theft of Gold's property – from his own home! – _absolutely_ counts.  
         (d) … yes, even if it's of a _chipped teacup._  
         (e) … and the thief is Lacey's ex-boyfriend, whose motives were _personal._  
         (f) … the effects would still be _professionally_ damaging were he not to pursue the matter.  
     § 11: Lacey is not to ask about The Cup.  
         (a) … _ever._  
     § 12: Lacey is taking the weekend after Valentine's Day off.  
         (a) … and she does not want to speak to Gold at all during that time.  
         (b) … nor see him.  
         (c) … nor find gifts from him on her doorstep when she wakes up.  
         (d) … she's spending the rest of the weekend with her 'BFF,' Ruby.  
         (e) … and he's not to visit the diner _at all_ while she's gone.

Which culminates in:

     § 13: Apologies only count if they're _sincere._  
         (a) "I'm sorry _if you felt..._ " apologies do not count as 'sincere.'

And also:

     § 14: There are certain aspects of their personal histories that they are permitted to keep private.

***

Lacey doesn't ask about the cup again, although he does see her looking at it once or twice, even staring at it one evening with a bemused expression while he's preparing dinner in the next room.

Something cold twists in his gut when Gold spies this. _What will happen when the curse is broken, when she remembers?_ he wonders. _How much of this will change?_

_How much do I **want** things to change?_

It's not up to him, regardless. He will simply have to deal with it when it happens.

***

Lacey keeps more than just condoms in her bedside drawer. "Where on earth did you get all these?" he asks, disbelievingly. There's always been a certain _strangeness_ to how Storybrooke gets its supplies from the outside world, beyond the borders, but this baffles his already-strained faith in the curse's abilities.

"The Grotto."  Lacey shrugs, and he comprehends somewhat. The store's proper name is 'The Paperback Grotto,' and its reputation is as scandalous as could be expected, despite its strictly-enforced 'no minors' policy. Gold's never had reason to actually enter the place because Ursula always pays her rent promptly via hand-delivered checks that never bounce. It's a no-nonsense quality he appreciates in a tenant.

Also, he admits privately, she faintly terrifies him, whatever her incarnation.

"How does this...?" he asks, and Lacey peers over to see what he's found.

"Oh," she says. "You just –"

Gold hands it to her. "Show me?" he asks.

Lacey gives him a filthy, delighted grin and complies.

***

"No," Gold says firmly.

"Why not?" Lacey asks. She has him at a disadvantage, given that she's currently pinning him atop her bed.

"No," he repeats, looking away from her wide eyes and her bare skin and tousled hair. Instead, he looks at the glinting handcuffs dangling from her fingertips.

"Ropes?" she asks.

He pushes himself up to his elbows. "I will neither bind you nor chain you nor have you as my captive in any way," he promises. _Again,_ he amends mentally.

"Please?" asks she.

 _"Never,_ " says he.

She leans in, her chest brushing against his. "Can I use them on you?" she whispers.

He closes his eyes and relents.

***

Gold stays late at his shop every Friday to go over his accounts, and sometimes forgets to eat. Lacey brings him some reheated leftovers and a coffee, knowing he'll be up half the night anyway.

She leans over his shoulder one night, rubbing at the tense lines of his shoulders. "What do those asterisks mean?" she asks.

"Loan payments I've deferred," he says. "In exchange for favors."

"Mm," she says, and doesn't ask what kind. She knows enough of his business as she cares to inquire, and as much as he's cared to answer. She leans in to give him a sweet, lingering kiss, her elbow jostling the coffee.

"Don't stay up too late, Rumple," she says.

There's a long moment where they both freeze, splashed coffee seeping into the pages of his open ledger. Her eyes go wide.

He can't _breathe._

" _Belle?_ " he says, barely a whisper.

At the sound of his voice speaking her name, she pushes herself up and away, scrambling backwards until her back hits a cabinet. Her hand covers her mouth, and then drops, pointing at him. "You," she says. "You called me that. When we first kissed – here, I mean. You called me that _here,_ before." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, eyes filled to the brim with new awareness. "You called me _by my name._ You knew this whole time, didn't you, _Rumplestiltskin?"_

"Yes," he says. "Belle, I –"

 _"No,_ " she says with a shake of her head, gathering herself.  "You chose to stay silent before. Now you get to live with that choice."

He tries to get to his feet, but his damned leg is stiff from sitting so long, and she's gone before he can reach her.

***

He tries calling her, to no avail.

"I'm _sorry._ I didn't think you'd believe me," he tells Lacey's voicemail. "I told you my real name, that first night..."

He hangs up. Then he grabs his coat to go find her.

She's not at Granny's, and neither is Ruby. The Rabbit Hole is as packed as ever for the end of a work week, but they're not there either. None of the other restaurants or shops are open at this hour.

Granny fixes Gold with a glare when he returns. "Lacey's not here," she informs him. "She left with Ruby before you came in the first time. I wouldn't advise tracking them down, by the looks on their faces when they left."

 _"Please,_ " he says, nearly willing to get on his knees and beg if he has to. Granny must be able to read it in his expression, because her gaze softens by a fraction.

"Give her some time to cool down," she says. "She might be willing to talk about it then."

He returns to his empty shop and sits back in his chair, and waits for some sign – anything, a phone call, even the sound of her footsteps scaling the back stairway to her apartment.

It is a long, long time before dawn, and despite his best efforts, he falls asleep in the deafening silence.

***

When he wakes, he's stiff and sore, his leg screaming bloody murder at him.

There's a letter on his desk. He snatches it up, hands fumbling it open.

 _Consider this my notice,_ it says. _Both for my employment and on my lease. I will send someone for my things._

_Lacey_

He doesn't know what to think, that she's signed it with her Storybrooke name. He wants to know, wants to talk to her about it, about what she's going through, conflicting lifetimes juxtaposed in her mind. Is she confused? Is she angry?

Well. Of course she's angry with _him,_ but is she angry about remembering? Is she upset at what the curse made of her, here?

 _It was your curse,_ he reminds himself. _Regina may have cast it, but it was of your own design._

Everything Belle has suffered, _is_ suffering, has been his fault. Whatever he suffers in turn is well-earned.

Everything has its price.

***

Life goes on, in Storybrooke. The curse remains while the savior still doubts.

Gold's not surprised, really. Whatever he had with Lacey flared for a bright moment and then was extinguished – an improbable little ember, to be sure, but not enough to drive back the overpowering darkness of the curse.

He keeps a weather eye out, though. He can sense things changing. The items in his shop throw off sparks, whatever their materials, as if a static charge is building in their frames. Struck, his customers blink, disoriented, then mutter and shake their numb fingers before continuing on.

He rearranges, placing the more... _volatile_ items behind glass, or locking them away out of sight. Just in case.

It keeps him busy.

There's a box in his back room filled with items he keeps finding at odd moments. A battered romance novel in the backseat of his car, a pair of shoes in a closet, a scarf behind a couch cushion. Earrings in his soap dish, of all the silly things.

Gold tries not to look at the box too often, but it fills up within days.

He goes to Granny's. Ruby ignores him for a full twenty minutes; if he were hungry, he'd be upset about it, but he's not here for the food. Finally Granny hisses something at her granddaughter and Ruby comes over with a sullen expression.

"Whaddya want?" she asks.

He folds his hands atop his cane. "I have some things of – of Lacey's, that I'd like to return to her," he replies.

"So bring 'em here," Ruby says. "I'll make sure she gets them."

"I'd like to return them in person, if that's all right." When she doesn't answer, he offers, "Look, I'll meet her in a neutral location – under the clock at three, how's that?"

Ruby looks unimpressed. "I'll let her know," she says.

 _"Thank you,_ " he replies, low and genuine, and leaves.

***

Lacey – Belle – is waiting for him when he arrives, box held awkwardly under his arm. He sets it at her feet. She's wearing the blue dress he saw her in, that first day she came into his shop, but she's got a sunshine-yellow cardigan open over it to ward off the chilly breeze coming from the sea.

"Is that it?" she asks, glancing at it. "You don't have one or two things that you 'accidentally overlooked'?"

"That's all I found," he replies. It's true; he hadn't even thought of that ruse. "There's one other thing, though," he adds, reaching into one pocket and pulling out an envelope. She looks at it suspiciously. "Go on," he prompts, holding it out it to her. She takes it, and the flap falls open to spill a key into her palm.

"What's this?" she asks.

"I wasn't sure if you were still looking for a new job." He ducks his head, keeps his voice light and even. "You seem to have had a run of bad luck with employers; I thought you might like to be your own boss."

"...what?" she says.

He nods at the doors nearby, and watches her follow his glance. "It's the old library," he says. "There's a small apartment on the second floor. Yours if you want it; the deed's in the envelope. And as it's a community service, there's a salary earmarked in the city budget. Not much, but enough to get by."

Lacey – Belle – exhales softly. "You don't have to –" she starts, but he holds up one hand.

"It's already done," he says. "Consider it your severance, if you like."

She stares down at the key in her palm. There isn't any more for him to say, really, so he turns to leave.

"You're a real son of a bitch, Rumplestiltskin," she says, voice thick, and he glances around in surprise.

"Keep your voice down," he hisses, facing her again. "For heaven's sake."

"Oh," she says, sounding more like Lacy than Belle. "Afraid someone's going to hear me? Don't want anyone to find out that _big bad Mr. Gold_ is just some imp from their childrens' bedtime stories?"

" _You know,_ " he says, coming closer, "that they aren't just bedtime stories."

"Yeah, but we're the only ones, aren't we?"

"Regina knows," he says, and she blinks.

"Good to know. Still," she continues, "to everyone else, they're just harmless little stories where the good guys always win and the bad guys always lose."

Gold chuckles grimly. "And you think that people knowing my real name will mean they'll start to think they can get the best of me, is that it, _dearie?"_ He shakes his head. "You must have realized that people are more complicated than 'good guys' and 'bad guys'." He can feel his lips twisting in a snarl as he says this.

Lacey – Belle – smiles and steps forward into his space, staring him down, undaunted by his sudden anger and two worlds' worth of memories telling her he's dangerous. "Oh, sure," she says agreeably. "And I realized something else, too."

"What's that?"

"In this land or any other..." she smiles, gentle and wicked at once, both selves at once. "I kind of have a _thing_ for 'bad guys'." She lifts her chin, expectant, and he's powerless to resist her – here, now, and anywhere else. He cups the back of her neck in his palm and pulls her to him for a desperate kiss, fierce and real and honest. She responds in kind.

Someone wolf-whistles across the street, and Lacey makes what is probably an obscene gesture over Gold's shoulder at their unseen onlooker. Gold laughs against her mouth. "Language, dearie," he murmurs.

"I didn't _say_ anything," she points out.

"You didn't need to, apparently," he says, leaning his forehead against hers. "Oh, my dear, whatever shall I do with you..."

"Follow my lead," she suggests.

"I always seem to," he accedes.

"Good man," she says, pressing a soft, swift kiss against his mouth before pulling away to unlock the doors of her new library.

 

– END –

**Author's Note:**

> I kept seeing fanart of Rapunzel as Indian (example [here](http://herringbones.tumblr.com/post/46319728169/first-of-a-three-part-series-of-spreads-of-my-take)) floating around Tumblr and liked it so much that I made her Indian in this fic.
> 
> Also, there is an adult bookstore/porn store _in actualfax real life_ called "The Paperback Grotto." I [didn't make that up](http://saathi1013.tumblr.com/post/48980382213/so-in-my-ouat-au-headcanon-ursula-owns-the-feminist).


End file.
